Concerning Stolen Gondolas
by Cyprith
Summary: One should never test the eccentricities of nobility. They have a tendency to be… stubborn. Fluffy slash. ErikRaoul.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Concerning Stolen Gondolas

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Erik/Raoul

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I don't own them.

Summary: One should never test the eccentricities of nobility. They have a tendency to be… stubborn. Slight slash. Erik/Raoul.

Author's Note: One shot.

* * *

The vicomte was mad. Erik almost pitied the people of France. They had to deal with this eccentricity. But _almost_ is the important word in that statement, being as Erik hated just about everyone. Still, this youth topped them all.

He had stolen his gondola.

Not _only_ had he stolen the gondola, he was floating around the lake. Raoul de Chagny lay in the bottom of the boat, a short knife at his neck to stop a punjab and a single oar in his hand. Erik didn't know what the boy's intention had been when he had taken _one_ oar but he knew what he was using it for. Raoul would steer the boat away whenever it got within an arm's length of land.

And there was no way in hell Erik was wading out there after him.

That's what he _wanted_.

* * *

Insults, homicide attempts, attempts to loop a rope around the prow of the boat had all fallen short. The vicomte had gotten some insane idea into his head and wouldn't give up. Being caught, of course, would have put a damper on his plan.

Not for the first time, Erik cursed the stubborn eccentricities of this nobleman in particular. He was stark raving _mad_. But that wasn't the worst of it.

Erik couldn't concentrate.

It was no good watching _his_ gondola make lazy circles around the lake, and shouting threats on its banks had no effect. He just couldn't bring the boat in. What other choice did he have but to ignore him?

But he couldn't concentrate on even that much, damn it! Thoughts had a tendency to fall away from him. They didn't stay very long. His mind was drifting over the body in the boat.

That hair, those eyes, that voice…

Thoughts like that, however were not safe thoughts. And no matter how he groped to cover them with concentration, or at the very least, day dreams of Christine, it didn't work.

Anger, he decided, was easier.

* * *

"Vicomte, I swear if you don't leave, you will come to regret it."

Wading in after him was undignified _and_ what he wanted. He'd be damned before he let that man have his way.

"You know I wont come out until you agree, Erik."

"This attempt at a threat has become very tiresome."

"Christine would have wanted you to." It wasn't the first time tonight he had heard that.

"Vicomte, Christine is _dead_. An incident, I might mention, that I blame entirely upon you."

"It was not my fault!" Raoul sat up, angel eyes peaking over the edge of the gondola. "No more than it was yours."

"And how could you possibly blame_ me_?"

"The fever came from this place." He gestured around at the lake. "She came to visit you."

Erik bared his teeth.

"The fever came from the birth of _your_ child, monsieur. You're the only one to fault."

"Because he was my son?"

He smirked in a way that made Raoul's blood rise.

"I can take no responsibility if your little monster killed her."

Raoul stood, skimming the side of the oar over the water. It skipped, sending up a spray of water that reached Erik at his desk.

"My patience," he said, wiping drops from his mask, "is wearing thin."

"As is mine, monsieur." Raoul settled back into the gondola. "I did not come to be insulted."

"You came because you are in fact, a mad man."

"Not one civil word from you!" Raoul snapped, slapping the water. "What have I done to deserve this, eh?"

Erik gave him a look that should have explained everything but didn't. Maybe it had something to do with the way the utter loathing was no where near as strong as it used to be.

"You've stolen my boat for one thing." He attempted to continue writing but the train of thought was long since gone.

"If you would only agree, I would return it!"

"The hell you would!" his head snapped up.

Raoul fell silent, caught off his guard.

"Once was enough, monsieur, thank you!" he glared with all the hate he could muster. "That is the last time my work will see the stage."

"But you write still." Raoul pointed out. Erik could see him stretched out in the bottom. One hand, the hand not on his oar, dangled in the water. For a moment he found himself hoping the siren would bite off a few fingers. Not that there _was_ a siren, mind you. It was a lie he had used to frighten Christine closer to him in the gondola

_His _gondola. Damn vicomte.

"I write for my own enjoyment. Who are you to ask me to share it with all of France?"

"Not just all of France. The _world_. Your play was brilliant. All things put aside, it was a work of genius. Its only fault lay in Carlotta._ She_ ruined your score."

"I will not."

"Christine would have—"

"You've said this twice already, monsieur. Return my boat and leave with your life. You may not be so lucky again."

"I will not leave until you give me something to take above."

Erik ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

"I will give you nothing!"

"Then you are stuck with me." Raoul crossed his arms, draping the oar-arm over his chest so that the wood rested against the other side of the boat.

He glared at him, their eyes locked.

And then Erik broke.

Furious with himself and the vicomte both, he ripped open a drawer, pulling out a leather bound script.

"Take this and go." He snapped, throwing it down onto the vicomte's stomach. "Leave me be. And if I so much as catch a glance of you down here, monsieur..." He let the warning hang. Unspoken threats were always more frightening. But Raoul laughed, those angel eyes lit up.

"Thank you, monsieur, thank you!" he called up. I knew you'd see it my way. Thank you! Because of you, the opera house will reopen with a bang!" Raoul paused and smiled. "I will expect you to be there opening night, Erik. As Christine would have."

Erik remained at his desk, golden eyes lit behind the mask, bright as the candles that lighted his work. He said nothing but he watched as Raoul waved.

Then, almost as an afterthought, the vicomte blew him a kiss.

* * *

He wouldn't have admitted it. Even under pain of torture and agonizing death, he wouldn't have admitted it. But Erik kept that kiss, just as he kept every glance and touch of Christine's. This, though, was in a special corner of his mind. It lay in the cool dark of the shadows, hidden.

He looked at it sometimes, more often than he'd even admit to himself.

And sometimes, he could even feel it brush against his skin.


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Concerning Stolen Gondolas

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Erik/Raoul

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I don't own these boys.

Summary: Why should one hide himself from the world? It goes against nature.

Author's Note: Once more, a visit to my friend's house has spawned a short little story. I figure, if this happens again, I'll post it as another chapter here too.

I may try and make them all fit together, but I doubt it. As it is, this could probably stand on its own.

* * *

Concerning Stolen Gondolas

Chapter Two

* * *

For all his talk, Erik did nothing to stop the vicomte from returning. Every week, Raoul would return. It became their routine, their habit. They would talk sometimes, but more often than not, Raoul simply sat in the shadows and watched as Erik worked.

He came in silent, keeping to the darkness in an attempt to go unseen. He didn't know that Erik knew, and waited for his visits. He didn't know that in his coming he'd set off dozens of tripwires.

Sometimes he'd bring things with him. Gifts, tiny things that could be easily hidden about his person, and left on the corner keys of an organ, unseen until knocked off by a high note.

Erik waited for these as well. He'd smile when he found one, something that had been rare until now. And then he'd hide it away, behind some mirror or lose rock.

When he was alone, he mused on it, on their situation. Raoul was a vicomte, and given to fits of eccentricity. _He_ had become something of interest, a game that would live out its value in time. But for now, while he still shone bright with promise, Raoul was interested. And when Raoul was interested, it was something like courting.

Erik enjoyed it, although he'd never admit it. Not even the high courts of Persia could torture him into admitting his budding feelings for the vicomte. He enjoyed the attention, and that was all the more he'd admit to himself.

Which was a damn sight more than he'd ever admit to Raoul, anyway.

Sometimes they talked. It was a rare event, seeing as how Erik was content to ignore his presence. But when they did, Raoul was always more than charming. He was like a dragon's hoard at times, all light and shimmer. What made it worse, was that Erik was sure he wasn't trying. His interest seemed genuine.

Which made it all the harder to push him away.

He knew he had to. It would make the fall from grace that much easier, but god, he didn't want to.

Raoul was more intelligent than he'd ever given him credit for. And when he wanted something, an entire ocean couldn't stop him, let alone a stagnant lake.

"Why hide from the world?" he'd asked him once, curled up in a high backed chair. "It's not natural."

"If you haven't noticed," Erik snapped. "_I'm_ not natural."

"That's not your fault."

"Neither is it something they'll forgive me for."

Raoul went silent for a long moment before speaking.

"I think you're going about it all wrong."

"Going about what?" Erik turned, glancing back at him before returning to his work. A sentence hung unfinished, as it had for the past quarter hour.

"You've got it backwards." Raoul's thoughts came out cryptic at best. Sometimes they were damn near opaque. He forgot people couldn't see inside his head.

Erik pursed his lips and glared.

"All of it at once, monsieur." It was not the first time he'd said it.

Raoul blushed and looked up. He hated to seem half-brained in front of Erik."It's not right, you having to hide." He paused, trying to think of the right way to say it. "Why not cover the eyes of the world instead?"

Erik laughed at him then. Raoul blushed and fell silent, content to let the subject die. But that's not to say he didn't still think about it.

And Erik, stubborn as he was, dwelled on it every time he was alone. When Raoul was above, laughing in the world of the living, he hid in his shadows and mused on those words.

_Cover their eyes instead._

And when he looked into _Raoul's_ eyes, it was possible. Hell, to hear the boy talk, it was already happening. France loved their mystery composer. The one man whose music could rip at their heart and make their blood throb.

To hear Raoul talk, you had the world once you had France.

And they most certainly had France.

Just as certainly as Raoul had _him._


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Concerning Stolen Gondolas

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Erik/Raoul

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I don't own these boys.

Summary: Five tips to avoiding scandal.

Author's Note: Late night thinking is a horrible thing. Had to jerk up out of a doze to write the idea down.

* * *

Concerning Stolen Gondolas 

Chapter Three

* * *

Scandal was an interestingthing. It could tear apart the lives of nobility, and leave them as desolate and unloved as any common pauper in Paris. Once favored and famous, men withered away until they faded out of the spotlight. Erik had never worried much about Raoul before. He let the boy wander around the outer limits of his home, providing he didn't break anything. He even let Raoul watch him work if he wanted. But he didn't bother to keep up with his affairs. What was the point? The man was useless. 

And then he finished his opera.

This, in and of itself, would not have been a startling occurrence. He finished operas all the time. Music flowed from his fingertips. Plot and character seeped out his ears at night. But this, this one was different. This one was something _great_. It could make him famous. _Raoul_ could make him famous.

So when Raoul was suddenly involved in the scandal of the century, Erik was understandably _pissed._

Well, perhaps it wasn't the scandal of the century. Such a thing would require more than a few people's knowledge of it. But it had the potential to ruin his chance at fame, and that's why he found himself scared to death. What he didn't want to admit was that the sight of finding Raoul slowly bleeding to death in the cemetery had more of an impact on him than Christine's own death. So he blamed it on fame. It wasn't the best of lies, but when one finds one's fiercely denied love interest dying, one has to think fast. Under the circumstances, he did rather well.

* * *

_Avoiding scandal is a difficult thing. First one must remove the possibility of disaster._

* * *

Erik did what made sense under the circumstance. He brought Raoul home. To _his_ home. It wasn't a widely known fact that the Phantom of the Opera was quite possibly the best healer in Paris, but it was coming in handy. He'd dealt with gunshots before. Gypsies weren't the most peaceful of people. But this was by far the worst he'd had. Raoul had been shot in the shoulder, a scant three inches above his heart. Someone had been aiming to kill. And no matter how fiercely he denied his affection for Raoul, this meant _war._

* * *

_Second, one must conduct one's self with dignity and restraint._

* * *

"Who in the hell did this?" He demanded as soon as Raoul had opened his eyes. 

The vicomte blinked for a moment, attempting to register where he was. Erik was here, so that meant they must be underground. But _where_ underground was a mystery. It was a nice room though. Comfortable, aside from the throbbing in his shoulder. Forgetting the man's question, he looked around.

"Chagney!" Erik snapped. "Who _shot_ you?"

Raoul came to his senses then.

"That Bertrand twit. Something about his sister."

Erik clenched his teeth in frustration. The boy was absent minded at the best of times. This was _not_ the best of times.

"What about his sister?" He had to fight to keep the rising frustration out of his voice.

"Oh, she's _horrid_. Nasty little bootlicking, backstabber that one." He trailed off, continuing his visual exploration of the room.

Erik had to turn away. He felt helpless. And helplessness was not an emotion that translated well. So, of course, it turned into raw anger. While this could be useful, under the circumstances, it was decidedly _not_.

"Lets put it this way, so that your tiny blond head can comprehend. Describe to me, from start to finish, _what happened._"

Raoul frowned.

"Why are you angry with me?"

"_Now!"_

Erik didn't like the look of hurt in his eyes, but he liked the thought of someone shooting him even less.

"Henry Bertrand thinks I'm sleeping with his sister." Erik felt heartsick. He had to fight to keep it from showing. "He said he wanted to speak with me in private. We shared a cab." Raoul's eyes were wandering again. "He left us at the graveyard."

And Erik had found him there, soaking Christine's grave with his blood. He didn't have to force the rest of the story out of him. Which was for the better, seeing as how Raoul had lost his train of thought again.

"Here." He took a vial from the table and handed it to him. "I want you to drink this."

"What is it?" Raoul didn't shy away from him, but he still had a look of hurt betrayal in his eyes. He wasn't used to Erik yelling at him. Insulting him, yes, but not yelling.

"It'll take the pain away and make you sleep." He held it out. "I want you to take it."

Raoul met his eyes for a long moment before doing as he asked.

* * *

_Third, one must immediately rectify the problem without causing a scene._

* * *

It didn't take long to find Bertrand. He wasn't even hiding. It wouldn't have helped, of course. Erik would have chased him to the ends of the earth. But finding him like this. It was almost unsporting. Not that that was about to stop him. 

Erik crept in from his balcony window. Well, perhaps _crept_ isn't the word for it. As soon as he reached the balcony, he slammed open the doors, letting the wind rage through the room like a banshee. Bertrand jerked up from his sleep, fumbling for the gun under his pillow. But Erik had never been afraid of guns. He smiled, mask gleaming white in the darkness.

"You think that can hurt me?" He laughed and it echoed through the house. "I am Death come to collect his due." He held out his arms. "Do you fear me?"

Bertrand fired, but thankfully missed.

Erik took off the mask and smiled.

"You should."

* * *

_Fourth, remove one's self from the public eye._

* * *

Erik returned home bloodied. It wasn't _his_ blood of course. Bertrand, he had found, was a slob in both life _and_ death. Raoul was sleeping soundly when he entered. Which was all for the better. He didn't want the boy to see him, soaked to the bone with another man's blood. He should have thought about stealing his clothes out of here before installing the vicomte in his bedroom… no matter how much of a thrill he got from seeing the boy in his bed. 

He returned an hour later, clean once more and dressed in fresh clothes, to sit by Raoul's side. He had to check the wound twice before he was satisfied enough to leave him be.

* * *

_Finally, appear to enjoy one's apparent vacation._

* * *

Raoul woke up in the vary early morning hours. Not that it mattered, considering they were underground. Erik was leaning back in his chair, a book propped open on his legs. 

"I wanted to thank you." Raoul murmured, catching his attention. "You didn't have to do this."

"You're my ticket to fame, Chagney. How did you expect I'd react?"

Raoul was silent for a moment, but there was a soft smile twitching at the corner of his lips. He knew he was lying, and Erik could see it in his eyes. So, of course, he avoided them.

Raoul reached up, his fingers brushing the skin just behind the edge of the mask. Erik jerked back.

"What are you _doing?_"

"I won't take it off." He said, curling back on himself. "I just wish _you_ would."

Raoul had been the baby of the family. He knew how to make himself look small and helpless, even as a grown man. Erik softened when he saw it. He hated the look in Raoul's eyes. But he knew if he took off the mask, he'd hate _that_ look more.

"You've seen my face before." He crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Forgive me, monsieur, if I was concentrating more on Christine than you."

"Concentrating?" Erik snorted. "You can _do_ that?"

Raoul frowned and looked away. Silence stretched between them for a long moment.

"Fine." Erik said at last. "You want to see? Then look."

The mask landed in Raoul's lap. He'd never seen the boy smile like _that_ before, his eyes searching until he felt naked before him. Raoul leaned close, and just before their lips met, he heard the man whisper.

"You, monsieur, need to shave"


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Concerning Stolen Gondolas

Author: Kytten

Pairing: Erik/Raoul

Rating: PG

Summary: It's always difficult to ignore a Chagney. Especially _this_ Chagney.

Disclaimer: I don't own it.

* * *

Concerning Stolen Gondolas

Chapter Four

* * *

If he was honest with himself, Erik truly _didn't_ remember what it was that had him upset. He'd taken to ignoring Raoul a week ago though, and damned if he was about to back down now.

Granted, ignoring a Chagney was never the easiest thing to do. They had an odd tendency to be both eccentric _and_ determined. Raoul was no exception. If anything, he was worse.

It'd been all well and good at first, when it'd been only singing.

Well, perhaps _well and good_ wasn't the best of terms for it.

Erik was losing his mind. It wasn't that Raoul couldn't sing. No, _that_ was the problem. The vicomte could sing well for a man without even the least smattering of training. But his voice, that beautiful, promising voice had a tendency to carry.

Actually, Erik suspected that voice had been _intended_ to carry. He wouldn't put it past Raoul to stand around, deliberately singing next to airshafts and the orchestra pit, making sure his voice carried all the way into the fifth cellar of the opera house.

It was driving him _mad_.

And without fail, whenever he began to play, Raoul would begin to sing. And his song would _grate_ on Erik's notes until without noticing his fingers slipping; he began to play the vicomte's song.

This was not doing anything for his resolve.

Neither was the fact that whenever he heard that voice stumble, whenever it became obvious that it was only promise Raoul had, Erik's fingers itched. He wanted so _desperately_ to correct the man's pitch or wrong note, as if it was a splotch on the score that rested before him.

* * *

And then, in that infuriating way that Chagneys have, Raoul made everything _worse._

He got sick.

_Very_ sick.

* * *

At first, Erik didn't hear about it, having holed himself away in his lair. But at long last, when the need for food and the sound of voices other than those in his head drove him above, he found out.

_Pissed_ was an understatement.

Not only had Raoul managed to endanger his life _again_. He'd won. The bloody fop had won whatever argument it was that had set them at odds. Maybe not at the time, seeing as how Erik _always_ had the last word, but he'd forced Erik out of his sulk.

In the scheme of things, he'd won.

* * *

Raoul woke up to darkness. And strange as it was, he recognized this particular sort of dark. It wasn't the bark-your-shins-on-the-table-on-the-way-to-the-loo sort of dark. It was underground dark. The kind that only comes when you're below at least ten feet of earth and there's no well or window in sight.

He smiled, feeling the heat of the man beside him where their skin touched through the silk of the sheets. Raoul lay there for a long moment, reveling in the sensation before a thought stuck him, and he leaned back to drift a hand over the bedside table.

_There_.

Cool porcelain caressed the pads of his fingers and Raoul grinned, placing a hand over the expanse of skin it was meant to cover. Erik stirred under his touch, and curled a hand around his wrist, pulling him forward into a lazy kiss.

"Your fever's broken." He murmured against the vicomte's lips, voice still rough with sleep.

Raoul smiled. He heard the words that pride wouldn't let Erik say.

"I'm cold now." Raoul missed his mouth, kissing the tip of his nose instead. "Hold me?"

Smiling in the dark, Erik pressed close. He'd heard Raoul's answer.

"_I'm so sorry."_

_A stolen kiss and the meeting of eyes blinded by night._

"_It's alright. I love you."_

* * *

Hey, ya'll! I've got a book for sale! Check it out. www. lulu. Com /content/ 329205  
Spaced because ff.n's gay today. 


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